The Farm Girl and the Drake

Our story begins one Hearth’s Warming Eve many, many years ago. The streets and houses were covered with freshly fallen snow and lights burned brightly in every window. The air tingled with excitement. Soon it would be time to open presents.

At Sweet Apple Acres, the rooms of the farmhouse were covered in garlands and wreaths. Stockings hung beneath the fireplace mantel, and many colorful boxes lay under the tree.

But the family wasn’t home. They were in the hospital, awaiting the arrival of the newest member of their clan. Granny Smith calmly sat in the waiting room while Big Macintosh anxiously paced back and forth.

“Don’t worry,” she told her grandson. “Your ma’s gonna be okay.”

Big Macintosh was exceptionally worried. The past few hours had been a blur. It all started with the family sitting down to dinner when his mother, Pear Butter, cried out in pain and said that “her water broke.” Then Bright Mac, Big Macintosh’s father, ordered his son to help his mother outside while he got the wagon and horses ready.

Bright Mac took the reins and drove his family to the hospital in town, and once there, Pear Butter was rushed to the delivery room, her husband alongside her, while their son and Granny Smith stayed in the waiting room.

At last, the clock struck midnight.

The nurse, a thin woman with long hair named Redheart, entered the waiting room and beckoned Big Macintosh and Granny Smith to follow her.

They walked down the clean corridor of the maternity ward and stopped at a wooden door.

Nurse Redheart turned the handle and opened the door.

Then Big Macintosh heard a sound coming from inside the room—soft, cooing sounds.

Pear Butter was in bed, cradling a bundle of blankets in her arms, and Bright Mac was sitting beside her, still wearing his delivery scrubs.

“It’s a girl,” he said with a proud smile.

They all stared at the child wrapped in the blankets. She looked so tiny, with big green eyes that shined like emeralds and a small curl of blonde hair.

“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Granny Smith said.

As Bright Mac looked down at his daughter, he stretched out a finger and lightly touched her hand, which had fallen out of the blankets, and she grasped it in a firm grip.

“I guess we won’t be naming her after my mother,” Bright Mac said.

“So, what should we name her?” Pear Butter asked.

Big Macintosh took one look at his new sister and said, “Applejack.”

“Applejack?” Bright Mac repeated.

“I love it,” Pear Butter said as she kissed her on the forehead. “Welcome to the family, Applejack.”